


A Couple of Suggestions

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [45]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, Kidnapping, M/M, Peril, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 06:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20223556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton feels like shit, but he causes trouble anyway.





	A Couple of Suggestions

Hamilton is not especially surprised when his determination to escape proves neither simple nor straightforward. For one thing, he still can't sit upright without his head spinning, which means _standing_ is going to be a whole other mess of unpleasantness. For another, he has nothing to work with—he has no tools—and his compatriots are equally ill-equipped.

This all proves their captors aren't complete idiots, but it tells them little else.

Now that he is awake, at least Hamilton can start marshaling his forces and reconnoiter the terrain. He can ask questions, and receive answers to some of them: no one knows precisely how long they've been here; there's been zero sign of life behind the cell's only door; their hosts haven’t brought food or water.

"They will bring food eventually though, right?" one of the civilians chimes in at that last. The wide Bolian looks skittish and scared—young enough that this might well be his first assignment away from Federation territory—but Hamilton doesn't have time for sympathy. He's glad all the fleet officers are doing a better job keeping calm and focused.

Hamilton needs these people on task if they're going to find a way out.

"Hopefully," he says at last, unwilling to lie but not cruel enough to wave the question off as irrelevant. "We were obviously taken for a reason. It seems unlikely starving us would be to anyone's advantage." Regardless, Hamilton does not intend on being here long enough to find out. _This_ he keeps to himself as well. Overconfidence can destroy morale just as surely as surrender or despair.

"Oh." The Bolian looks distinctly disappointed. He was clearly hoping for a more decisive answer.

"Sir?" Another ensign approaches and sits beside Martin, peering at Hamilton where he leans shakily against the wall. She sounds steady and cool, and the fear in her eyes is stubbornly banked. "What are your orders?"

"Does anyone have training in base-level engineering?" He'll settle for whoever's most confident in the emergency protocols the Academy pounds into every cadet's head—_everyone_ receives rudimentary instruction in functional and communications technologies—but engineering experience is better. Someone he can direct without having to translate the technical jargon.

None of this would be necessary if he could _stand_, find his own damn way into whatever mechanical access points they might be able to reach from inside this cell.

But his head is still fogged, his insides queasy, and he has a strong suspicion too much movement will knock him out again. He can't afford to be unconscious when he is the only senior officer amid a gaggle of terrified ensigns and civilians. He will have to settle for the most qualified set of helping hands.

"I do," says the ensign beside Martin. Her narrow face looks severe with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. "I made it through half an engineering intro before I switched to the security track."

Which probably means she was shitty at the mechanical aspects of the course. But any training is better than zero under their present circumstances.

"Perfect. What's your name?" He's not going to waste time pretending guilt for not knowing.

"Molly Pitcher, sir."

"All right, Ensign Pitcher. Here's what I need you to do."

The process is long, and slow, and does not get them out of the cell. The subsidiary comm junction they manage to find—by prying up a panel of wall near the ceiling—doesn't let them patch into any active control systems. But with a little rewiring, they manage to channel sensor readings to a built-in diagnostic panel.

Hamilton wonders why there is a sensor array in a city building—right up to the moment Ensign Pitcher breathes a sound of startled comprehension.

"_Sir_. We're on a _boat_."

"A… boat?"

"A big boat. Ship. Vessel. We're definitely afloat, but it must be a large enough construct to have inertial dampers."

That’s bad news. They could be anywhere, leaving the mystery of their location completely unresolved. Even worse, once they figure out where the hell they are, there's no guarantee they won't be relocated.

"Okay," Hamilton says, after a lengthy and mulling quiet. Martin and several of the others are watching him, and Pitcher stands at the panel waiting for further instructions. "Can you see a tertiary cascade port? We need to reroute the system and send an outbound signal."

Ensign Pitcher grunts in agreement, and gets back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: One, Mystery, Boat


End file.
